Can't Choose Your Family
by Fyrie
Summary: Wesley and Anya bump into one another for NO reason at all....


TITLE: Can't Choose Your Family

TITLE: Can't Choose Your Family  
AUTHOR: Fyre   
SUMMARY: Anya and Wesley bump into one another for no apparent reason.  
FEEDBACK: If you like it, I'll be chuffed to know  
DISTRIBUTION: [You got the stones?][1] and anywhere else that wants it - just ask.   
SPOILERS: Season 1 of AtS  
COUPLE: Anya/Wesley  
RATING: PG-13  
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine and that fact makes me as sane as Dru.   
NOTES: I may not have got the characters fully in form, but I've been ill for a week and wrote this under the deepest, darkest flu, so I apologise in advance. Also, for those of you who don't know - Rugby is American football, without all the armour (ie - all the blokes wear are crotch protection, shorts, shirts and boots with VERY vicious studs) so its bloody, violent and surprisingly entertaining.   
DEDICATED: Lizz for issuing the challenge on 'You got the stones?'

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Cupping her chin in her hands, her dark eyes sought out the figure she had been searching for since hearing his name being mentioned before the game had started, a small smile quirking her lips as she spotted him.  
  
His feet pounded on the ground, the taut muscles of his startlingly powerful legs gleaming with a sheen of sweat as he ran towards his goal, his face a mask of determination and focus that she had always found so adorable about him.  
  
His dark hair was plastered to his head, his jaw locked as he weaved in and out between the other players, the ball clutched tightly under his arm as he ran, never breaking pace.  
  
Obviously the past year of working for the vampire as a demon hunter had led to him working out more than he ever had as a book-bound watcher for the Council and now, he was sprinting as if all the demons of the Apocalypse were on his tail.  
  
Glancing at the gathered supporters, his blue eyes widened, startled, when he spotted her, his pace faltering.   
  
Anya's hand slapped over her mouth as one of the larger players from the other team came hurtling out of nowhere. She didn't even have enough time to yell out a warning, as the yells of riumph grew, deafening her when the British man was tackled by a wall of solid muscle, smashed to the ground and the ball made its way rapidly back down the field in the opposite direction.  
  
Picking himself up weakly, the somewhat battered and bruised man turned to see the other team score, one hand pressed to his ribs, as the full-time whistle shrilled, a grimace of pain and disappointment flaring in his pale eyes.  
  
Turning, he limped over to where the former-demon stood, her hands folded shyly in front of her. He'd never imagined it possible for a demon to be shy, but this one did a good job of it - and looking demure as well.  
  
"Good Lord! Anyanka!" With a pained smile, he held out a hand to her, shaking hers firmly, in his usual, formal way. "I didn't think it was really you!"  
  
"I look the same as I always do." She remarked dryly, looking over his tattered rugby kit, the shorts and shirt half-hanging off his body. "But you..." She faltered off with a raised eyebrow and a suggestive smile.  
  
"Ah...yes..." He grinned ruefully at her. Family tradition, I'm afraid." He looked over as several of the winning team members jogged down towards him, his face falling abruptly, his hand tighening across his ribs.  
  
"Nice to see you haven't lost your touch, Wes, old boy." The largest of the group grinned, his face handsome in an uper-class, pompous kind of way. Slapping the younger man roughly on the shoulder, despite his obvious pain, he chuckled. "You'll always be the baby, won't you?"  
  
Strolling passed the wincing former-Watcher, one of the other men viciously squeezed his shoulder, a small smirk playing on cool, cruel lips. "Poor Wes." He tutted, pushing passed Anya rudely. "Can't take it, can he? More of a book-man, isn't he? Can't go anywhere without his glasses."  
  
Watching the trio of good-looking, mud-covered men stalk away to the dressing rooms, Anya frowned after them. Why had they just insulted her half-not-quite-friend? Looking at Wesley, she bit her lip.   
  
Although Wesley was tall, those three were all a good few inches taller and larger than he, looking stronger and far more confident than the shy, bookish younger man, who was looking increasingly more pained.  
  
Around them, the crowd was dispersing, leaving the pair of them standing silently on the muddy, soaked rugby field.   
  
"I like your glasses." The ex-demon said, not wanting him to be so quiet. Wesley looked sad and she wished she knew who those men were. She recognised a deep-seated, childhood pain when she saw one and she knew those men - who looked attractive enough and bore a slight resemblance to the man before her - must have tormented him like that before. "They make you look sexy."  
  
"You don't need to lie to me." Swallowing hard, he turned to face her, but found only honesty in her eyes. "Why did you come here, Anyanka?" He tried to tear his gaze away from those brutally honest brown eyes.  
  
The brunette girl smiled. "I was on vacation, visiting some old friends in Oxford. I heard there was a rugby game and I wanted to see some sweaty, muscley men running around, so I came here and there you were."  
  
"Sorry you had to be disappointed." He gave her a wry smile, wincing as pain lanced through his body. "I wish that I'd never agreed to play."  
  
"Oh, I wasn't." She smiled again, then took a step closer, frowning at the red seeping out from beneath the torn rugbt shirt. "What's wrong with your arm?" She demanded pointedly, gesturing to his shoulder.  
  
Looking down, he winced again, biting on his lip as she pulled the tattered fabric away from his injured arm, revealing several bruising scrapes inflicted by studs on the bottoms of the shoes.  
  
"You're hurt." She exclaimed, directing him over to the seating.  
  
"No," Shaking his head, he tried - unsuccesfully to pull away from her, but her grip was unrelenting. "I'm fine, honestly."  
  
Pushing him down to sit, she wagged her head with a frown. "You're bleeding." She replied, digging through the physiotherapist's bag that was lying on the bench. "You're hurt. I'll clean you up and you can tell me who those silly men were."  
  
Wesley gave her a weak smile. "Those silly men," He replied gasping as she splashed cold water from a bottle on his shoulder, the dirt and cool water streaming down his bare, toned chest. "Are my brothers."  
  
Anya paused, gently sponging his shoulder. "Your siblings? Aren't they meant to be nice if they're your siblings?"   
  
"Works in principal." He bit back a grimace of disgust. "They think I'm not as good as them because I don't spend all my time involved in the family sports and business. I spend more time with books than they would like."  
  
"They're jealous." She decided, grabbing a bandage and starting to wrap it round the bruised shoulder. "You're smarter than them and they want to beat you up to make themselves feel bigger and more important. It's a very childish attitude, but it works."  
  
"Why don't I find that very reassuring?" With a wry smile, he looked down at her crude bandage on his shoulder, raising his had to smile his thanks only to find her eyes fixed on his bare chest. "Anyanka?"  
  
Tilting her head, the former demon grinned. "Did you know you go all ripply when you talk?" She gestured to his washboard stomach. "I bet your brothers don't ripple as much as you do. If I had known that was what you hid under all that tweed, I would have been after you faster than a Slayer after a vampire."  
  
The Englishman's face turned vivid shade of scarlet and he hastily got to his feet. "I...I ought to go and change." He mumbled, grabbing the scraps of his torn shirt. Starting towards the changing rooms, he glanced back at the girl, seeing the forlorn expression on her face. "Would you like to go to join my family and I for dinner, Anyanka?"  
  
**What did you do that for, you pillock? Because she's an older woman - technically - and she is bloody beautiful, you twat. Stop arguing with yourself, Wesley, old boy! Sign of old age, is that!**  
  
Anya's face lit up with a beautific smile. "As long as you wear this." She said coyly, holding out a bag to him,a naughty glint in her eye. "And as long as I get to make a fool of your brothers."  
  
"Just seeing me there with a beautiful girl will be enough to make them fume." Wesley confided, noting her blush with a pleased smile. "I told my dad about you, you know. He's dying to meet you."  
  
"You told your dad about me?" Her grin and blush intensified.  
  
"Why not?" He accepted her bag, glancing in with a chuckle. "You are one of the most interesting people I happen to have met on my travels. I tell my father everything. He used to be a Watcher too, you know...he was never given a Slayer in his time, but he likes to keep up with what I get up to."  
  
"I won't be in the way, will I? I mean, you're not going to do something like...er...smoking in the parlour? Or talking about racehorses? Or going to have dinner with the Queen?" She looked anxious and Wesley couldn't hold back a laugh, shaking his head.  
  
"We may sound like a bunch of posh pillocks." He confided with a grin. "But we aren't anything of the kind, I guarentee. The Council makes us sound like a bunch of twats with these bloody prim and proper accents."  
  
Anya frowned. "You haven't met the Queen? So what do you do then?"  
  
Looking around conspiratorially, he grinned. "We're actually going bowling for my loony Uncle's birthday - his request.   
  
You'll be welcome. He loves pretty ladies." He paused, her frown concerning him. "That is, if you still want to come?" "Bowling?"  
  
"You know, when you bowl the large ball at the pins?" Wesley raised an eyebrow.  
  
"If a Slayer can date a vampire, I guess I can go on a date with a..." Picking her words, she grinned at him. "Posh pillock and his family. You'll still wear that t-shirt?"  
  
Wesley nodded vehemently, his mental voice singing that she had said the word - DATE! "I think it will fit in perfectly with the mood of the party."   
  
He remarked, drawing it out of the bag and reading the bright red lettering. 'I'm with stupid'. He knew his uncle and father were going to adore this girl. "Give me a few minutes to go and get changed."  
  
He squeezed her hand, wondering how his brothers would reacte to the stunning little creature and her wonderfully warped attitude to life. "I'll meet you out here."  
  
"Then we go and make your family look stupid?" She asked hopefully.  
  
He nodded, with a very un-Wesley grin. "Bloody right!" He chuckled, breaking into a run towards the changing rooms. His family just weren't going to have a clue what was about to hit them!  
  


   [1]: http://ygts.cjb.net/



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